


People just untie themselves (uncurling like flowers)

by RedWritingHood



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Secret Requieted Feelings of Brotherly Affection, jason is begrudgingly helpful, no tim not in the cereal, tim needs to sleep, you're my family but heck if you're gonna know about it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-12-12 04:11:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20975123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedWritingHood/pseuds/RedWritingHood
Summary: Tim is tired. Jason is reluctantly concerned.





	People just untie themselves (uncurling like flowers)

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Various Storms & Saints" by Florence + the Machine.

It's only when his spoon his the bottom of the bowl of cereal he's been mechanically eating for the last twenty minute that Tim is shaken out of his zombie-like state and he realizes there's someone else in the room with him. 

He's too tired to even be surprised.

"Jason," he says, his voice coming out slow, almost slurred. "What're you doing here?"

Jason gives him an odd look, like he thinks Tim's missing something. A few screws, perhaps, or maybe a nice handful of marbles. "You just now noticed?"

Tim blinks, the action just as slow as his voice. "I. I was distracted." By the tiny white spots that had been obstructing his vision for over an hour now.

Inevitably, if a bit late, Tim's gaze is drawn upwards, as if magnetized. "Your hair is purple," he says. Eggplant, to be exact. He'd thought something had been different about Jason. Looked like Steph had finally gotten serious about making her mark on the people of Gotham. More literally than he'd originally anticipated, in this case.

He pats his own hair, then takes his spoon and holds it up. "Huh," he says aloud, after a moment of squinting.

Eggplant purple. Where did Stephanie get the time?

Jason lowers the fork he'd been using to eat his vegetable-cheese omelette. "Babybird," he says, "I know we've got this whole hate-hate thing going on, but I need you to answer me honestly."

Tim doesn't have the energy to lie, even if he'd wanted to.

"When did you last get more than three hours of sleep a night?"

"I would kill for three hours," Tim says.

Jason looks at him. "Wow. That . . . that's actually unbelievably concerning." Then his eyes widen in alarm, and he shoots to his feet, reaching out.

For a moment, Tim doesn't realize what just happened. 

Then it dawns on him that he'd nearly been about to take a nap in his cereal bowl, and he begins to have an idea of why Jason's so worried.

"Oh," he says. Becomes aware that Jason is cradling Tim's head in his hands, strangely gentle with his roughened fingers and calloused palms. Says, slurred, words slipping off his tongue like water over the edge of a glass, "This is really very soothing." He can't even muster up the energy to be properly mortified about it.

"You're so out of it, Replacement," Jason says.

Tim says, "You have nice hands." Almost takes a nose-dive into his bowl anyway when Jason quickly pulls away. He awkwardly pulls himself upright. He can still feel the warmth of Jason's palms on his cheeks.

Jason clears his throat, pretending the last five seconds never happened.

Tim is going to remember those last five seconds for the rest of his sad, most likely short-lived life. 

(Unless side effects of severe sleep-deprivation include low-grade amnesia. That would be a shame. He thinks he deserves to know the sensation of Jason's concern, if only because Tim never really got the hang of not being concerned about him.)

"Stop talking," Jason says. His face is a suspicious shade of bright red.

"I wasn't," Tim says. Then, "Wait. That was out loud."

"Yes. Yeah. Don't do that."

"I think," Tim says. "I need to sleep."

Jason looks torn between laughing and scoffing. "Expert deduction, Sherlock."

"It's elementary, my dear Watson," Tim mumbles, something that feels a lot like oblivion--only more exhausting--coming over him.

He becomes aware only minutes later of his head resting on someone's shoulder. He's being carried.

"Mm?" he manages, the only sound he's currently capable of making.

"Go to sleep, Tim," his someone says, voice quiet and comfortingly familiar.

"Mmhm."

"There's a good little bird," Someone murmurs, and there's the barest hint of a smile in his voice.

Tim drifts off into a world where the skies are clear and robins fly higher than their fears can follow.


End file.
